The vivacity of one of those moments would burn us

from "A Tale of Two Gardens"
Octavio Paz

A house, a garden,
                           are not places:
they spin, they come and go.
                                        Their apparations open
another space
                    in space,
another time in time.
                             Their eclipses
are not abdications:
the vivacity of one of those moments
                                                   would burn us
if it lasted a moment more.
                                      We are condemned
to kill time:
                so we die,
little by little.
                  A garden is not a place.
Down a path of reddish sand, 
we enter a drop of water,
drink green clarities from its center,
we climb
            the spiral of hours
to the tip of the day,
                             descend
to the last burning of its ember.
Mumbling river,
                      the garden flows through the night.


I mark the changing of the seasons by these trees, but my absolute favourite time is when the bloom in the spring. The flowers never last very long because the first good gust of wind blows the petals off the trees and creates what my mom likes to call an impromptu wedding in our backyard. The other morning, a couple of days after I took this picture, I actually looked out the window and thought it was snowing because all of the petals were raining down. The weather is a bit gloomy right now, so I thought that sharing something simple and beautiful and summery was a good idea.

I love the opening of this poem. Octavio Paz writes truly stunning poems. The idea of gardens being loci for nostalgia is wonderful and enchanting. They are no longer places but time itself in some way. They capture moments and feelings and then unleash them on you when you return. I think any place is like that, imprinted by the past, imbued with memory. Objects, places hold history within themselves. Not just our personal memories either. I always feel as if locations and objects hold historical memories. Perhaps this is why old buildings or vintage objects are so fascinating. They hold countless stories. And perhaps this is also why sometimes it is nice to have something brand new, something that is blank, that has the room for you to create your own memories without becoming mixed up in those that came before you. I've never had a garden like that, but I can imagine one. It's really lovely to think about.